Outlaw Hearts (22 page)

In the distant foothills, wolves began their nightly songs to each other. Tonight the wailing seemed strangely ominous. They both felt it, and Jake met her mouth in a savage kiss as though to make sure she really was there and really was his. Miranda felt the same sudden need. She told herself she must not think about all the problems a woman might have being married to a man with Jake's past. It was the future that mattered, only the future. She had told him that, and she must believe it herself, for Jake's sake. He wanted so much to do this right. He needed her love, and she in turn had a mad desire for this man of danger and loneliness. Sometimes she felt that through loving the man she could also bring some love to the little boy in him who wanted so much to be held and comforted.

For now, at last, they could recapture the ecstasy of that first night he had taken her. It had been so hard being together, looking at each other, and not being able to sleep in each other's arms these last few weeks. Now they had all night, but this first time they needed to dispel the odd fear the wolves' howling had awakened in them, needed to make sure this was real and nothing could change it, needed to revel in the glory they had found in being united.

Jake's kisses grew deep and hot, his tongue slaking into her mouth suggestively, something Mack had never done. It made her feel wild and wanton. She thought about the kind of women he had been with before her, realized now there were probably things he knew that she had never been shown. His lips left her mouth and trailed to her neck. He pulled her to a sitting position and began unbuttoning her dress at the back. She closed her eyes and rested her head against his strong shoulder as he opened the dress and ran his hand under her camisole over her bare skin.

“I want to know all of it, Jake, all the things I don't know yet. I want to be as good as the women who do this just to show a man a good time.”

He grinned at the mere thought of her being anything like the kind of women he had known. She leaned back, and he pulled her dress off her shoulders, untied the camisole and pushed it open, reaching inside to gently close his hand around a soft, full breast. “Just looking at you excites me more than anything those women did.” He laid her back again, kissing her deeply, running his thumb over her taut nipple. “I'll gladly teach you anything you want to know,
mi
querida
,” he whispered, his lips moving down to taste at the pink fruits of her breasts.

The words stirred a passion in her that made her draw in her breath with the ache of it. In moments her dress and camisole and slips were pulled away. Jake sat up and pulled off her shoes and stockings, removed his shirt, boots and pants. Miranda lay there naked, on fire at how his dark eyes raked over her while he stripped off his underwear. She drank in the sight of his firm body, and that part of him that left no doubt he was all man. She touched the scar at his left side where her own bullet had come close to killing him.

Her own bullet. He had come into her life a wanted outlaw who had gunned down a bounty hunter, and now he was her husband. She leaned up and kissed the scar, as well as the one at his shoulder, at his neck. There were other tiny ones; Jake was a man battered physically and emotionally most of his life. She could hardly bear to set eyes on the faint scars on his back, knowing they'd been put there when he was small and defenseless.

He leaned over her, grasping her knees and parting her legs. She closed her eyes and let him drink in the sight of what now belonged to him. He ran his hands along the inside of her thighs, over her privates and belly. Then he leaned closer, licked at her neck, her cheek. “There are many things I can show you,” he said softly. “Right now all I want is to be inside you, to make sure this is real.”

She gasped when he quickly entered her then, filling her to ecstasy. His shaft was hot and hard, searching her depths. She leaned her head back, arching up to him and groaning at the way his penis teased her as he moved erotically, in moments bringing her to a delicious climax. He rose up then, grasping her hips and drawing her to him, thrusting himself deep. For several glorious minutes there was nothing but to enjoy the man and let him claim her. His hands gently massaged her bottom while he continued to fill her body in a sweet rhythm that made her forget everything else. There was only Jake, invading her, touching her everywhere, bringing out passions and desires she was hardly aware existed in her soul.

He pulled her closer then, met her lips almost savagely, and groaned as his life finally surged into her. He stayed inside her and took her into his arms. “We'll do it again in a minute,” he whispered. “I'll never get enough of you, Mrs. Harkner.”

She liked the sound of that name. To others and on paper she was Mrs. Jake Turner, but in her heart she did not mind being Mrs. Jake Harkner. If not for the danger for him, she would shout it to the world.

“Once we get someplace where we have more privacy, I'll teach you anything you want,” he was saying. Already he was beginning to move inside her again.

Miranda met his eyes and was suddenly embarrassed at what she had said earlier. “You make me feel totally wicked and daring.”

He grinned, leaning down to lick at her lips. “I want to see you and touch you and taste you all over,” he promised.

“Jake,” she whispered. Neither of them was about to let their weariness from the long, hard journey, or worry about the danger that might lie ahead interfere with this special night. It was done now. They were man and wife, and nothing could change that.

In the distant hills, the wolves continued their mournful wailing.

October 1866

Clarence looked up and down the street to be sure none of his relatives was anywhere near. It had been easy to sneak away from his Uncle Wilbur's tent camp. They had been in Virginia City only two weeks, and his uncles were all busy building a log church, deciding the church must come even before a cabin would be built for Aunt Opal and the children. Within the religious camp he slept alone in his father's wagon, having taken over his father's possessions since the man's death from cholera in the mountains of Utah.

His eight-year-old cousin David, his uncle John, only twenty-eight, and his grandfather had also died from the dreaded disease, all before reaching the Nevada desert. The trip through the desert had been hell, and now that they had arrived at their destination, Clarence could not help wondering what kind of a God would put them through such hell when they were on their way to bring God's teachings to others.

Not that he believed much in God anyway. He had never really considered himself a missionary, never quite understood why God was so important to some people. He had hated having to be a part of the trip, hated the boring life his uncles led, always praying and reading the Bible, never having any fun. He had come along because it was expected of him, but now that he was here and his father was dead, he was not so sure he had to remain with the family and join in all that holy stuff. He was a man now, had been for longer than any of his family knew, ever since he'd lain with that farm girl back in Missouri before they'd left. He should be old enough to make his own decisions about life and how he wanted to live it.

It seemed ever since that farm girl, his appetite for women and the inability to be with any because of his family had been near painful. He had been so sure that widow woman, Miranda Hayes, would be hurting bad enough for a man that she'd let him under her skirts; but she had surprised him. God, how he hated her for embarrassing him the way she had! He hoped she had
died
from that snakebite, slowly and painfully. It would serve her right for acting so uppity around him when he knew damn good and well she was hungry for a man between her legs.

He stepped up onto the boardwalk. He liked Virginia City at night. It was wild and noisy and dangerous, a place for a man to prove himself. He pushed his way past drunks, glanced into each saloon to see smoky rooms full of men gambling and drinking, painted women hanging over them. Raucous piano music and wild laughter filled the night air, along with an occasional gunshot.

He could not help wondering if these were the people his family had come to “save.” They sure didn't seem to think they needed it. What was so bad about this life? People were dancing and laughing and drinking, having a good time. He had felt drawn to the wilder side of this town since they had first arrived, felt a keen hunger to learn about this side of life. He wanted to taste whiskey, sleep with a whore and learn about all the ways women like that had of making a man feel good. He wanted to learn how to play poker, shoot pool; wanted to taste tobacco, smoke a cheroot, roll his own cigarettes.

These were his decisions to make now, not his uncle Wilbur's. Maybe he would find a job up at one of the mines, or working at one of these saloons. Until then, he would continue using the money he managed to steal bit by bit from his uncle, most of it from the collections the man took after giving a sermon, collections turned over to Clarence to count. And count it he did, after taking out a portion for himself. He grinned at the thought of how stupid and trusting his uncle was.

He walked into one of the saloons where he spotted a young, blond-haired girl moving around the tables. She was pretty, reminded him a little of that Mrs. Hayes. Her bright green satin dress sported a neckline so low he was sure her entire bosom would spill out of it. An edging of lace was all that hid her nipples, and he felt a rush of excitement at the thought of being with a woman who would let him do anything he wanted with her. That farm girl, she had been a little resistant at first, but she had given in once he told her that he'd tell her father about her if she didn't cooperate. He had made her cry, but he supposed that was how it was for a girl's first time. She'd get over it.

He edged closer to the prostitute, excited by the shortness of her dress, the hemline just above her pretty knees. He had never seen so much leg exposed on a woman before. She wore black net stockings and silver shoes, and her hair hung long and loose, unlike the tight buns worn by his Aunt Opal and most of the other women his family had known. He wanted to touch that hair, to see that slightly hidden bosom. “Hello,” he spoke up, touching her arm.

She turned, and a bright smile parted her full, red lips. “Hello, kid.” Her eyes moved over him. “Something I can do for you?”

Clarence grinned, already feeling an urgent pressure at his privates. “Maybe. You, uh, you one of those ladies who take money for showing a man a good time?”

She laughed lightly, tossing her head to flick her hair behind her shoulders. “A man? Is that what you are?” She came closer, moving her hand to his privates. Her eyes widened. “Well, I guess maybe you are at that.”

Clarence reddened, on fire for her, already sure that this was all he wanted out of life, women like this, the smell of smoke and cards. “I'm man enough for you,” he told her. “I've had my share of women,” he lied.

“Have you now?” She gave him a teasing look and took his hand, pulling him to the bar and ordering a shot of whiskey “on the house” for him. Clarence thought of protesting, but he figured if he was going to learn about this life, he had to taste all of it. The bartender set a shot glass on the counter and poured the whiskey, and Clarence picked it up and slugged it down quickly. He could not help making a face then at how it burned going down. He shuddered, and the woman laughed.

“Pour him another one, Toby,” she told the man behind the bar. “He'll get used to it quick enough.” She touched Clarence's chest, pressed her fingers across his nipple through his shirt. “For five dollars, I'll take you upstairs and show you all you want to know about women, honey. You got the five dollars?”

Clarence swallowed, wondering if he would explode with desire. “I've got
ten
dollars you can have if you let me stay all night.” He grinned, imagining how his uncle would react if he knew his collection money was being spent on a whore.

“Let's see your money, kid.”

Clarence quickly dug into his pocket, pulling out eight single-dollar bills and a two-dollar gold piece. The woman pulled the bodice of her dress away from her breasts so that he could see them fully. “Drop it in, honey.”

He stared at the taut nipples eagerly, then shoved the money into her dress, his hand lingering there a moment to enjoy touching one nipple. Men sitting close by who had seen the display hooted and whistled and began teasing Clarence, asking if he really thought he was man enough for what he was about to do.

“You don't know Mellie, boy,” one of them said with a laugh. “She'll eat you alive!” The others laughed with him, and Clarence reddened deeply but maintained a manly stance.

He drew his hand away. “That your name? Mellie?”

“That's it.” She licked her lips seductively. “What's yours?”

“Clarence. Clarence Gaylord.”

She traced her fingers over his lips. “Well, Clarence Gaylord, follow me upstairs, but don't expect to get any sleep tonight.” She pulled at his hand, guiding him to the stairway while men continued to call out lurid remarks. Mellie just laughed, not at all offended. Clarence eagerly followed the woman up the stairs, wondering how old she was. She was so painted and had such a hard look to her, it was difficult to tell. She could be twenty, or maybe ten years older than that. It didn't much matter. Tonight he was going to do what
he
wanted to do. This woman wouldn't turn him away, and there was no Uncle Wilbur here to preach to him about how this life was wrong. He didn't see a damn thing wrong with it. All these people liked it just fine. If laughter and half-naked women and scraping in money from card winnings was sin, then where was all the sorrow and pain and repentance his uncle preached about? He saw nothing here but a good time. He followed Mellie into her room, and she closed the door, keeping her smile when she turned to him. She knelt in front of him and began unbuttoning his pants. “Let's see what you've got in here,” she said softly.

Clarence closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Yes, this was the life for him! This was where he belonged. He wanted some excitement out of life, and Virginia City held all the excitement a man could hope to find! Maybe after tonight he would never even go back to his uncle's camp, except to get his clothes and leave for good.

***

It was already getting dark when Jake led the wagon down the muddy main street of Virginia City. An early snowstorm in the Sierras had stranded him and Miranda and the Mormon supply train with whom they had traveled from Salt Lake, and he and Miranda were both weary from their struggle against the cold and snow. The duration of the storm had left them buried against the side of a mountain and had nearly starved them out. The supply train carried only hardware, no extra food, and it had been a harrowing experience.

The same storm had frozen the dirt streets of town, and now a slight warming and the tremendous traffic of wagons and mules and horses, combined with the warmth of all the animal manure that was dropped onto the ground, had warmed the streets just enough to bring on a thaw that created a sucking, smelly mud. Both Jake and the oxen found it difficult to trudge through the muck.

The Nevada desert had been beastly, and Miranda had gotten sick. Her illness had brought terror to his soul, for he'd been sure it was cholera, but she was better now. He had gotten a taste of what it would be like to be without her, and he didn't like it at all. As far as he was concerned, she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

They had left the men of the supply train at a warehouse north of town, and now had the task of finding a place to stay for the night. The air was filled with screams and gunfire and piano music, and here and there a man could be seen lying on the boardwalk, out cold from too much whiskey. Jake thought how at one time he would have fit right in here among the wild women and smoking gamblers, and it still tugged at him a little, only because they had been so long away from any kind of civilization, which left him glad to see people and hear laughter. There had been times when they had both felt half-crazy with the tedious journey and the fear of dying either from the heat of the desert or the cold of the Sierras. Before that there had been the Rockies to cross, pathways along the sides of mountaintops that made a man dizzy.

He glanced up at Miranda, who was gawking at the drunks and at whores who draped themselves over balconies, displaying their generous offerings. She had come through this journey with hardly a complaint, even when she had been so sick. She had shown courage and strength, and he hoped her worthless brother appreciated what she had been through just to find him.

He shuddered at the thought of her actually trying to make this trip alone, and a feeling of intense relief spread through him at having made the decision to try to find her and help her get here. Knowing now what the trip was like, the heat, the mosquitoes, the snakes, the dangerous roadways through the mountains, the horrendous and unpredictable prairie storms, Indians, men like those who had taken her in back at that trading post… Being a woman alone, she might never have made it, although he knew she would have given it a hell of a try and would not have let on that she was the least bit afraid. He'd never known anyone so strong and determined.

They were barely halfway down the street when the doors to one saloon burst open and two men charged out, fists flying. They were followed by a swarm of men who were taking sides and rooting for one man or the other, and the wagon itself was quickly surrounded. The oxen balked and the horses tied at the rear of the wagon whinnied. Two men climbed onto the wagon and began pulling at Miranda, who began batting at them with her fists.

“Hey, honey, you're new!” one of the men bellowed, holding up a whiskey bottle with one hand.

In a second, Jake was up in the wagon beside Miranda. On the way up he grabbed one of the men by the collar and threw him off in one powerful movement, then raised a booted foot and kicked the second man in the chest, knocking him into the mud with a splat. The man just lay there sprawled on his back and grinning. Another tried to climb into the wagon from the back, and Jake pulled a revolver and shot at him, deliberately splintering a piece of the wagon gate beside the man's hand to warn him. The man jumped down, and the fight nearby suddenly stopped at the startling crack of Jake's gun.

“Get behind the seat!” he ordered Miranda. She quickly obeyed, her ears hurting from the firing of the gun so close to her head. She thought of another time that gun had been fired, its roar pounding against her eardrums, the weapon used against a bounty hunter who had had no chance against Jake Harkner.

Jake holstered the revolver and reached under the wagon seat to retrieve his shotgun. He waved it at the crowd of men, who had quieted. They stood all around the wagon now, just staring. “The next man who climbs on this wagon and touches my wife gets his guts blown out!” Jake roared. “Don't test me!”

Miranda could hardly believe how silent it had become in the immediate area. She could still hear laughter and piano music, but no one around the wagon moved.

“Sorry, mister,” one of them finally spoke up. “We thought you was bringin' us a new woman. Ain't a whore in town pretty as your woman there.”

“You've got it right.
My
woman! Now somebody tell me where one of the better hotels is in this goddamn town!”

Miranda peeked from behind the seat to see a short, dirty-looking, bearded man step forward. “Up at the other end of town. The International. You'll be lucky to get a room, though. I know a woman runs a real nice boardinghouse only a couple of buildings south of the hotel, a Mrs. Anderson—yellow house with white trim and roses out front. Friend of mine just moved out. You might could find a room there. It's nicer than the hotel on account of you can eat your meals all together at one big table, just like home, good food too.”